


A Shipload of Whores

by piggybackride (mssileas)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Disability, Humor, M/M, Pirate!AU, Prostitution, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssileas/pseuds/piggybackride
Summary: Captain Mako Rutledge finds he's missing more after a drunk hook-up than only last night's memories. But just whatfoolwould steal from the infamous Giant Shark?





	A Shipload of Whores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scrunchles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/gifts), [Thyme_Basalt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/gifts).



> Hello!
> 
> So my friends and I did a little fic exchange for the summer! Each of us were given three possible AUs by one person and three prompts by another, the rest was left to our creative freedom. 
> 
> I got the Pirate!AU from [Silly](https://sillyscrunchy.tumblr.com/), and tackled [Thyme's](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/) prompt which was _'Slowly piecing together the previous evening after a drunken hookup'_. 
> 
> This was super fun to work on, so thank you both! I seriously hope you enjoy this :)

Mako wakes to the soft thud with which the wooden door closes behind whoever he took upstairs last night - it’s enough noise to make his head throb anyway, and he lets it sink back into the lumpy mattress with a groan. It’s rare for him to drink so much he’s hungover the next day, partly just because it’s really difficult and expensive to get a man his size that tanked. Obviously he put some effort into it the previous night. His head is killing him, a dull pain pressing against either side of his skull, threatening to burst it open like an overripe fruit any second. 

All he remembers when he tries to retrace the steps that led him into this shabby room - probably above some stinking, moldy tavern - is a blur of noise and single pictures that don’t form into a coherent story. Mako thinks he remembers a shrill laugh and way too many drinks of something that had to be brewed by a man with no taste buds and no sense of self preservation.

He still feels like shit, but there’s no way he’s going to fall asleep again - outside the day has already begun and it doesn’t care that Mako spent half the night drinking and gambling with thieves and whores and what else kind of scum the tide washed ashore in this godforsaken corner of the world. Gulls are screeching over the busy hustling of a harbour in the morning. Fishermen call out their catch of the morning in tongues foreign and familiar to him, and wooden barrows rattle over cobblestone. 

Mako’s stomach turns when he sits up and his head threatens to split itself open. It takes a whole minute for the feeling to pass, and he rubs at his face, telling himself to get it together. It’s bad enough he woke up in some harlot’s bed like the young, reckless men in his crew that tend to find not only their balls but also their purses empty the following morning. Usually Mako laughs at them and tells them to be glad they woke up at all and didn’t have their throats slit in their sleep for being dumb enough to drunkenly trust a whore. 

He digs through his discarded clothes, looking for the leather satchel and fully expecting to find it looted, but to his surprise he’s greeted by the satisfying weight and clinking of gold and silver coins. Mako likes to think it’s a display of respect, but it’s probably just good survival instinct to not risk getting caught stealing from the infamous giant captain of the _Sharkbait_. He is not known for his patience and mercy, and no one would cry over a loose-fingered tramp.

Images of his latest conquest - or purchase, however you put it - slowly come back to his memory as the fog inside his head clears up a bit, swept away by damp, salty air blowing through the window. As soon as one detail reveals itself, a ton of them follow, and he pulls a bit of a face at them, running his hand over his the raspy stubble on his shaved head. He knows better than anyone else that he has a bit of an odd taste when it comes to his bed partners, though it’s an open secret among the crew, too. The captain just never goes for the obvious, pretty ones. They’re used to being popular, to having to do nothing but flutter their eyelashes and laugh during the right parts of a man’s story, and he finds it incredibly dull. 

After months at sea every man wanted the same - warm hands, a hungry mouth, a tight hole to fuck until he passed out from exhaustion. Mako is no different in that regard. But he’d pay them double if they have a bit of cheek and humor and a story to tell as well. One he didn’t hear a thousand goddamn times from the same ugly face before. In that regard, he turned lucky last night. In other regards, he really should start second-guessing whether he actually still has any standards.

-

The lad is subtle, as male whores are wont to be - not every innkeeper likes their presence and not every patron likes a man who’s sunken so low he bends over for coins. About his advances at least, there’s nothing subtle about his appearance. Can’t be. The tan on his skin does not hide the fact that he’s a Northerner, a rare sight this deep within the mostly uncharted Southern Islands, although not completely unheard of. Occasionally, his kind still gets stranded here. Escaped captives, deserted soldiers, adventurers who had lost their way. Like all people who lived in these harbour towns they had their story to tell, though they rarely cared to do so. They live here now, in a wild clash of ethnicities and languages and cultures, chaotic and dangerous and under no law but eye to eye justice. Who cares what they were in their former lives. 

This guy though - and Mako wants to be damned if he can remember his bloody name - he has tons of stories to tell. Most of them are likely made-up, or at least exaggerated, but the way he tells them has half the room listening, laughing with him or at him depending on the outcome. 

“..so she’s pissed, roight, comin’ at me like the goddamn fury, and she gets all up in me face and she yells ‘If ya ever fuck that ugly, dog-faced slut again, Imma cut off yer bloody cock and wear it as a necklace!’ and me, course I have to laugh, and I say ‘I can smell that gross thing ‘n it’s just hangin’ between me legs, you sure you wanna wear that roight under yer nose all day?’” 

He cackles through the wave of drunken laughter, rubbing his flesh foot against Mako’s thick upper thigh at the same time - under the table, where no one can see. Mako catches the bare foot in his massive hand, looking at the man from across the table. He is a lot to take in, really. Tall, light-skinned, blond hair pulled into a lousy excuse for a ponytail that doesn’t conceal his balding spots as well as he’d probably like to. He has a sharp, clever face that’s a bit unnerving mostly due to his blind left eye. It’s not the only thing fate took from him - his right arm ends somewhere below his elbow, the sleeve of his loose fitted tunic is tied off to hide the scar. A wooden peg replaces his right leg all the way up to his upper thigh and yet he moves and talks as if that hasn’t bothered him for a day in his life. 

Mako wants to tell himself it’s that boldness and confidence that intrigues him and prompts him to squeeze the bare foot in his hand instead of breaking his ankle in half. But maybe he just made it his mission to only fuck the ugliest whores he could find from now on. Because everyone could do the pretty ones. Mako lost track of how often he lets the lad fill his cup, but the room sways when he gets up on his feet to step outside and take a piss. 

The fresh air is like a slap to his drunken face and he remembers breaking a crate or something of the like when he stumbled around the next dark corner. Mako’s not even surprised to find… Jimmy? James? Fuck, he can’t remember, to find him leaning against the brick wall, eerily illuminated by the dim lights of paper lanterns and oil lamps. “Evenin’, Captain,” the man says, the smirk clearly audible in his voice, not changing his relaxed posture even as Mako walks up to him. He towers over everybody, even the tall blond, but the lad doesn’t budge until Mako’s belly bumps against his lean form. “I have a room upstairs. Care to join me?”

Mako thoughtfully sways his head, blurring the picture before him and he has to brace himself against the wall with one hand for balance, so he can grab the man’s chin in the other. The way Mako is looking at him is like an inspection, and finally the big man snorts. “With only half yer limbs I hope yer comin’ for half the price, too.”

The man’s grin is almost a snarl now. “Shit luck for you either way, tonight I’m chargin’ per pound,” he quips back and Mako has to laugh at that. A slim, but surprisingly strong hand wraps around Mako’s wrist and he lets himself be led upstairs over an outside staircase. 

-

Mako groans as the blurry rest of the night floods his memory. So, it’s official, paying good money to fuck a human wreck with a quick tongue is now a thing he did. Still, he can’t say it wasn’t one hell of an experience - there was one thing he liked about men, and that was how their bodies couldn’t lie. Jamison - _that was his name, bloody hell, finally_ , Mako thought - could have faked that raspy moan when Mako pulled at his lousy ponytail, he could have faked the enthusiasm with which he tore at the older man’s pants, but there was no faking a throbbing, dripping cock or the mess it left all over Mako’s tattooed belly. 

It could be argued that he doesn’t have to leave his ship to get in some bloke’s pants, and that’s true. He knows what some of the boys get up to when they think nobody’s watching or listening and the steady roll of waves would drown out the noises of fleetingly shared passion. But he’s not one of them, he’s their captain, and also he’s seen all of them piss and shit and puke too much to still be interested in letting them share his bed.

At least he scratched that itch of his properly last night. Mako doesn’t fool himself into thinking that his latest endeavour went completely unnoticed, but if his men are smart, they’ll know better than to comment on his rather off taste in company. 

The big man rises slowly, the floor tilting under him for a moment and Mako’s not sure whether he’s still drunk underneath his massive hangover or if it’s just his sea legs not yet adjusting to stable ground. There’s a big bowl filled with lukewarm, stale water sitting on a withered table. It’s not particularly inviting to drink but it does the trick of making his head feel a bit clearer when he splashes some of it on his face. 

Mako’s stomach is churning concerningly when he bends down to pick up his clothes and he’s deep in an internal debate over whether breakfast would help with the nausea or make it worse, when he reaches for his belt - and freezes mid-movement. The filthy whore did not steal his money. He stole something a thousand times more valuable. 

The tight stitches of the leather belt have been snipped open with tiny, precise cuts to reveal the now empty inside between the two layers. Mako keeps a tiny, hand-drawn map in that secret, hidden pouch, the only exemplar describing the way to his treasure cove. It’s filled to the brim with the spoils of the _Sharkbait_ , hidden behind a maze of small islands and reefs. One wrong turn and your ship strands in mangroves or swamps or gets pierced by jagged rocks, invisible under the constantly moving surface of the ocean. Without the map, death is a certainty. With the map, you still need one hell of a navigator to steer a ship through this naval minefield to come out on the other side unscathed. 

Mako’s fist shakes when it closes around the torn belt and he barely remembers to reach for his trademark sharkskin mask before he bolts through the door, gripping it so hard he almost tears it from the hinges. It was all a set-up. The flirting, the countless drinks to ensure he’d fall dead asleep as soon as he rolled over, the teasing, all a bait to catch him at his most vulnerable. 

He barges downstairs into the tavern with such force it sends some of the jumpier men scrambling to their feet, all but throwing himself into the face of old wench behind the bar. 

“WHERE IS THAT GODDAMN SON OF A BITCH, WOMAN?!” he barks at her, shaking the remains of his belt as if that is supposed to clue her in, and her dark face twists in confusion and disdain at his tone. “Jamison, where is he?!” he yells, and fuck it if the whole harbor hears him - his reputation in some shady pirate’s nest is worth nothing compared to the map that sodding tramp stole from him, probably to sell it off to the highest bidder and make his way out of this dump. 

The woman’s face splits into a toothless grin and she cackles when she nods over his shoulder. “You mean Captain Jamison Fawkes?” she suggests with an ironic tinge to her voice, as if her son had made her call him a captain during play pretend, but the mirth in her eyes is clearly directed at him. Mako whips his head around - through the smudged window he can see a small ship set sail, and a deep, disbelieving frown settles on Mako’s face. That can’t be fucking true…

He’s going to strangle that tavern bitch for her increasing laughter later, Mako promises himself when he storms out, running at a speed that is surprising for a man his size. He shoves his way through unsuspecting merchants and buyers, tearing down at least one trade stand in his wake. Harsh curses and the bark of a startled dog follow him. He doesn't even know why he’s running. If Jamison is on that ship, he’s already out of Mako’s reach, but he runs all the way down to the docks anyway, and there he sees it. 

It’s not a big ship, but it looks swift and sturdy enough to house a decent crew - it will be even easier to navigate through the dangerous maze to the cove than the _Sharkbait_. Her captain looks nothing like the man Mako bedded last night. He is dressed in a fitted, dark green tailored coat with tacky golden ornaments, his blind eye hidden by a black eyepatch, studded with a single emerald that gives it an eerie, fixed stare. He’s also wearing a prosthetic arm now, but that’s still not the most noticeable thing about his changed attire. Instead of patchy blond strands of hair, he’s wearing a wig styled in the same dark dreadlocks he sees on a lot of Jamison’s crewmates, too. Whoever on board can afford to stops in their tracks to wave and holler mockingly at Mako as their captain climbs up on the wooden rail. 

“Oi, Mako! Lovely of ya to see me off!” Jamison’s loud, annoying voice carries over to him easily enough, and Mako grits his teeth. 

“I’m going to find you, you goddamn mongrel, and I will make you watch when I skin your crew alive before I feed you to the sharks!”

The fool flashes him a grin that is too much teeth, completely unperturbed by the threat. “You don’t even remember me, do ya?” he laughs, and that has Mako’s mind reel back. Remember him? From where would he - 

The ship turns starboard ever so slightly, and the sun catches onto golden letters painted on the ship’s side. _The Flying Pig_ it reads, and before Mako can ask himself what kind of idiot would name his ship something so ridiculous and moronic, it hits him. The memory is easily a decade old, dusty and jagged around the edges, but his eyes go wide anyway. 

-

He’s somewhere too far north for his liking, some wet, stinking place where the cold rain never seems to end. It’s drizzling against a rattling window of a tiny room that barely allows him to stand upright when he pulls his pants back up. The boy in his bed is not Captain Jamison Fawkes or Jamison the Fake Whore, just Jamie, some orphan helping out an old innkeep in exchange for a roof over his head, who earned some extra coins by warming lonely sailor’s beds at night. There’s a last youthful trace in his sharp features, his blond hair is shorter, and he has tons of questions about Mako’s life on sea and four healthy limbs that wrap around his huge body in yearning and ecstasy. 

“When are you leavin’ port?” he asks Mako afterwards, trying to get a little more comfortable on the straw-filled mattress with little success. 

“Tomorrow,” is the curt reply, and two seeing amber eyes trace thoughtfully over Mako’s body. 

“I wish I could just sail away like that - leave everyone behind ‘n follow only me own command! Could be the captain of me own ship. Like you!” It’s an enthusiastic fantasy, but there’s some real, deep longing in his voice, too. A dreamer who’s convinced himself that rivers of gold and silver await him if he can only climb out of the shithole he was born in. 

Mako huffs out a cold laugh. “Pigs can fly before one of your kind will be captain of a ship,” he says, throwing a bunch of clinking coins on the mattress in the same careless manner he’d toss a dog a bone. It shatters the illusion of intimacy and affection into a thousand tiny pieces, leaving but a chilling void. 

Jamie looks at the coins as if Mako dumped out the contents of a pisspot in front of him. His lips are pressed shut, and the sudden silence hangs heavy in the air that only minutes ago was filled with excited laughter and trembling moans. It would have made a better man feel guilty - but Mako was never a good man. “If you could be anything else but a whore, you wouldn’t be here.” It’s not his fault the world works this way. It’s not his fault the boy still blinds himself with fantasies. 

He pulls the shark mask back over his face before he leaves, a stare full of icy contempt stabbing into his neck. He hasn’t thought twice about it - until today.

-

Mako is speechless. His mouth is open, but his mind is blank, unable to believe that all these three people are in fact just the one almost tumbling over the rail now, he has to lean so far out now. 

“I decided you still owe me, fuckhead!” Jamison yells at him, screeching with laughter at Mako’s dumbstruck face. “See ya in another seven years!” Behind him, his crew is ecstatic. They’re chanting something in a language Mako can’t understand, but the gestures they make at him speak the universal tone of ‘Fuck you’. He grimaces when he sees at least one of them is a _woman_. A golden bracelet, a slim ring with no lock and no visible seam line, is glimmering on her brown skin. Mako knows it to be a symbol of the pleasure slaves, shipped from the Desert Tribes to the Northern Emperors who paid unthinkable amounts for ‘exotic goods’. He finds other symbols, too: the hand-shaped branding on young men’s naked, black chests, the angry red rune scar on a fair skinned woman’s face who is so huge and broad Mako mistakes her for a man at first sight. Those and many more, all symbols of whores and prostitutes in service of one master or the other, now free under the flag of one nameless orphan boy. If he had stolen from anyone else, Mako could have been impressed.

“You are a dead man, Jamison Fawkes!” Mako shouts at him. He hears Jamison yell something back, but he’s too far away now and the wind tears away his words. 

“SKULLS!” Mako bellows when he turns back, stomping down the pier until his quartermaster comes running at the third shout. He’s ready to murder ten of Jamison’s kind by the time the man with the distinct face tattoo he owes his nickname to finally comes running. “Get the men on board, immediately. We’re setting sail and leaving as soon as we’re ready, anyone not on the ship by then can rot here for all I care.”

By the time the _Sharkbait_ is on open waters, Jamison and the _Flying Pig_ are but a tiny speck on the horizon. Still, Mako knows his ship is fast and she has yet to let him down. The sway of the ocean beneath his feet is the rhythm his heart beats in, and Jamison should have known better than to challenge him here. 

“We’re going to capture this ship!” he instructs his crew, his loud, booming voice carrying easily over their heads when he points towards the black spot, seemingly out of their reach. “Kill the crew. Bring me the captain alive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Thyme, I hope you're happy that Mako is such an antagonistic asshole in this - Silly, please baptize me with seawater now, thank you for the opportunity to explore this AU <3
> 
> Hope everyone else had a good time reading this, too!  
> If you like to, you can follow me on [tumblr](https://piggyofoz.tumblr.com/)! (NSFW tumblr version [here](https://piggyofoz-nsfw.tumblr.com/).)  
> 


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